You know, I write a lot.
Probably more than is healthy for someone in advertising, where words are currency, and we’re often asked to make do with just a handful.
Yet here I am, putting my thoughts out there, like a street performer juggling spoons in a town full of people who prefer knives.
I don’t have too much to fear. No more monsters under my bed.
I throw my words into the world and learn from whatever comes back.
Sometimes it’s applause, sometimes a polite cough, and sometimes a swift kick to the ego.
But it all counts. They make me better.
Perhaps, that’s the only way to improve. And why I keep writing.
Especially when I don’t have anything earth-shattering to say about the industry.
Or a new campaign to share that’s tipped to win the Platinum Otter Award.
Well, that’s simple.
My pen is all the spade I use to dig through my mind, find the odd truffle of an idea, dress it up, and send it out to see the world.
It may not always bring home metal, but it will always bring back a lesson.
Writing is what I bring to the table. It’s my thing - my thang, if you will. Everything else begins and flows from there.
I write every day. Sometimes here, sometimes elsewhere.
Like a bowler who practices daily, even when there’s no game in sight.
Wake up early morning, go to the nets, and just keep continuously bowling at the stumps.
You don’t need a batsman to get your bowling muscles and tendons to behave. Or even a coach.
Your pen can’t be a knife that’s been in its sheath too long - grindstones and sparks are what will keep it sharp. You got to bleed.
Advertising doesn’t always let me show off my love for long copy. Wrong profession these days for those who love spelling and grammar.
No bloody school taught me emoticology and memephenia.
This business would rather I write less and less. They have an anathema for the written word. We are raising zombies all around.
But I do it anyway. I keep practising. I keep writing.
It’s a habit, maybe even an obsession. Scary, but true.
It sharpens the mind and the nib, both of which, I hope, will one day be sharp enough to cut through the noise and make someone say:
“Hey, that was worth a very good Friday minute. Thank you.”
Until then, I’ll keep writing. There’s a lot of ink left in me.
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